The first time I ever called 911…

Last night, Aaron and I woke up to the extremely loud “chirping” of the carbon monoxide alarm in our apartment (okay, so Aaron was the one who woke up…I would have slept through the whole thing if it hadn’t been for him…). This has totally happened to me before, when I left the gas stove top on all night in my college apartment and woke up to the creepy, computerized lady-voice in the alarm screaming “Warning! Carbon Monoxide!”

Well, this time, a loud “CHIRP!” went off every thirty seconds, which–according to the back of  the alarm–is supposed to mean that it needs new batteries. But for some reason, the alarm-red light was flashing, not the battery-green. Was this a combination of a battery malfunction/carbon monoxide alert? Was there something important we were missing in the misplaced directions? What should we do?

We did what every other self-respecting person does at two in the morning…we took the batteries out of the darned thing and went back to bed.

Now before you freak out, our better judgment did get the better of us. There is just something so uncomfortable about not being completely, 100% sure that we were safe going to sleep. So, even though we were pretty positive that it was just the battery, we decided to call 911 anyways. Now, this was a first for me, so I didn’t really know what to expect, but the dispatcher was nice, asked me a few questions, and before she hung up she said the firetruck would be by in a few minutes.

Fast forward five minutes, and we hear a knock on our door. I open it up and there are three big, BIG, men standing in our little hallway. Seriously, one of them was as tall as the ceiling…I think he had to duck to get in the doorway. Aaron and I were just little midgets compared to these dudes. But their kindness and professionalism was outstanding…and they didn’t make Aaron and I feel dumb for freaking out over a dead battery. Haha.

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